


too much;

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23058415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: Geralt suffers from sensory overload while in crowded places, especially cities. Jaskier finds ways to help him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 658





	too much;

**Author's Note:**

> based on a text post i made on tumblr: 
> 
> i wanna write smth where geralt suffers from sensory overload, in crowded places, and the only way he comes down from it is when jaskier starts to sing softly and he can focus on his voice until they’re out of the thick of it :”)
> 
> twitter: queermight / tumblr: korrmin

The first time it happens Jaskier is not expecting it. They’re in a big city, walking through, when Geralt suddenly grabs his hand, squeezing tight. Jaskier blinks, startled, and looks over at the other man. He’s staring ahead, jaw clenched.

“Geralt?” he asks, soft. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

He doesn’t reply at first, just squeezes his hand, stares at nothing. Jaskier is well worried by the time he says, through clenched teeth, “It’s too _much_.”

Jaskier blinks again, “What?” he asks, not sure what he means. “Geralt, _what’s_ too much?”

“ _All_ of it,” Geralt replies tersely, eyes flickering around, “I can – hear all of it. Smell them. Feel them.”

Jaskier is still a little confused but he’s starting to get the gist of it. He nods and squeezes his hand back. He looks around; there’s hundreds of people walking through the city, talking amongst themselves, smiling or frowning. “Okay,” he says. “What should we do? Go back to the inn?”

Geralt growls, but he doesn’t sound angry. “I don’t know. _Yes_.”

“Okay,” Jaskier agrees easily, turning them around. He tugs gently on Geralt’s hand. “Come on.”

But they barely get a few feet before Geralt stops, halting to a stop. He yanks his hand free and covers both of his ears, growling again. Jaskier’s heart is beating fast in his chest; he wonders if he’s adding to Geralt’s current situation.

“Geralt, Geralt,” he says, soft but firm. “Just a little further.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, hands still covering his ears.

Jaskier frowns, needs to – needs to do _something_. He reaches up and gently grabs Geralt’s hands, pulling them down. Geralt snarls, and he shushes him quickly, “Geralt, listen to my voice, okay?” Geralt’s eyelashes flutter. “Don’t pay attention to anything else, okay? Just me, and my voice, and my emotions.” Geralt opens his eyes, just a crack. “Feeling better?” he asks hopefully.

“Please just – keep talking,” Geralt says, surprising him thoroughly.

Jaskier opens his mouth, closes it. “Um. Okay? What do I talk about?” Geralt just shakes his head again and says, “ _Anything_.” Getting an idea, he keeps a hold on Geralt’s hands, squeezing lightly as he starts to sing quietly.

Geralt stares at him, and he slowly starts to relax, the tension in every inch of his body bleeding away.

“Do you – ” Jaskier says, stopping for a moment, but Geralt just says, “Keep going.”

He nods, dumbfounded, and continues to sing. Geralt takes a deep breath and starts to walk, their hands intertwined, fingers slotted together. Jaskier follows him, still singing, confused but wanting to help. They reach the inn and Geralt lets go of his hand, an odd look on his face.

Jaskier stops singing. “Um?”

“That helped,” he says, sounding surprised, a crease between his eyebrows. “Huh.”

Jaskier nods. “That’s – good, right?”

Geralt doesn’t look at him, just nods at the ground. “Yeah,” he replies. They both don’t say anything else; just enter the inn together quietly.

+

Jaskier isn’t expecting it to happen again. He actually forgets about it entirely until they’re in a different city, months later, and there’s a festival going on and there’s dozens of children laughing and hollering and Jaskier barely realizes Geralt is spiraling under he finds his hand and squeezes so hard he almost breaks bone. Jaskier yelps and looks at him, eyes wide, “Geralt?”

His eyes are closed and his jaw is clenched. He squeezes harder.

“Oh, fuck,” Jaskier says. “Are you – okay, fuck.” Jaskier tugs him closer and Geralt lets himself be pulled, their shoulders pressing together. Jaskier stammers over his next words, “Do you want me to – ”

Geralt nods, once, fast.

Jaskier is used to singing to audiences of dozens, if not hundreds, but somehow _this_ – singing privately to Geralt – is more nerve wracking than that. He squeezes his hand, and starts to sing. It’s just some nonsense, a new song he’s been working on, but Geralt relaxes almost immediately. Jaskier feels weirdly giddy.

He leads Geralt through the city, through the festivities, guiding him away from all the commotion.

Geralt’s eyes are closed the whole way, and the amount of trust he’s showing in Jaskier – letting him lead him – is almost overwhelming. Jaskier stops once they’ve reached a quieter part of the city. Geralt takes a deep breath and opens his eyes.

Jaskier smiles, a little sheepish, “Better?”

Geralt almost looks embarrassed as he nods, “Better.”

“And to think,” Jaskier starts, an amused quirk to his lips, “I thought you hated my singing.”

He says the words lightly, but his heart still aches with the memory of

_– “it’s like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling” –_

Because Jaskier had never expected an outright _compliment_ from Geralt, but he had hoped he got some joy, however small, out of his singing.

“I don’t hate it,” Geralt says, bringing him out of his thoughts, back to the moment. He has an almost guilty look on his face. “I don’t always enjoy your lyrics, admittedly, but – ” he clears his throat and looks away. Jaskier realizes, then, that they are still holding hands. “Your voice is… nice.”

Jaskier’s heart skips a beat. “ _Nice_?” he echos in disbelief. His skin tingles with excitement.

Geralt shrugs, once, a sharp jerky movement. “It’s… _comforting_ ,” he says quietly, and if Jaskier didn’t know better – but he did – he’d almost say he was blushing. He shuffles his feet, moving closer. Geralt looks at him, eyes flickering to his mouth. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” he says, meaning it.

+

So… it kind of becomes a _thing_. Jaskier is prepared next time they enter a big city; he reaches for Geralt’s hand first and grips it, tight. Geralt looks at him, almost smiling, and Jaskier feels giddy.

He knows, now, that towns do not trigger Geralt as often. Sometimes, if there’s an event going on, but not usually. It’s cities that get under his skin, with hundreds of townsfolk, tons of shops bustling with patrons, big markets.

Geralt had explained it to him after the second time;

_“I have enhanced senses,” he says, “you know that.” Jaskier nods. “Sometimes when there’s too much going on – too much noise, too many smells, I just get – ” he stops, like he can’t find the word, an odd quirk to his lips._

_Jaskier smiles, soft and knowing, “Overwhelmed?”_

_Geralt startles, looking up. He nods, slow. “Yeah,” he says. “Overwhelmed.”_

_“Well,” Jaskier says brightly. “Good thing you have me.”_

Jaskier strokes the back of Geralt’s hand with his thumb and starts to hum at first, quiet. Geralt follows him through the city, their hands tightly interlocked. Geralt’s hands are rough with scars and callouses, but Jaskier loves them.

After a while, Jaskier starts to sing and he can _feel_ Geralt relaxing.

But then –

“You’re Geralt of Rivia?”

Jaskier stops and turns; a man, older with dark hair, stands before them. Geralt stiffens, and he can also feel that. The man steps closer and produces a bulging pouch of coins, eyes bright.

“Please, I am in need of your help,” the man says, offering the bag. “Hear me out.”

Jaskier watches Geralt, watches as he winces, reaches up to almost cover an ear before deciding against it, watches as the corner of his mouth twitches. Jaskier squeezes his hand, _hard_ , and says, “Meet us at the tavern in an hour.”

The man blinks, looking at him like he’s dirt on his boots at best. Jaskier squares his shoulders.

“And who are _you_?”

Jaskier glares, “I’m his _friend_. Now you can meet us in an hour or you can deal with your monster on your own.” He tilts his chin up in the air. “What’ll it be, sir?”

The man falters, looking between them. “Okay. I’ll see you, then.”

Jaskier waits until the man runs off before he turns to look at Geralt. “Hey, hey.” Geralt looks down at him, jaw clenched. He reaches up and brushes a thumb across his cheek. “Are you okay?”

He nods curtly. “That was – ” he starts, clears his throat. “I didn’t know you could be so intimidating.”

Jaskier grins, mostly pleased that Geralt seems to be okay. He shrugs, “I’m full of surprises, you should know that by now,” he says with a wink.

+

Jaskier helps Geralt a few more times before –

One day they’re in a city and Geralt asks him to sing, almost _begs_ , really, and Jaskier tries but it’s not helping and Geralt’s squeezing his hand hard, hard, _harder._

“Okay,” Jaskier says, dragging him between two shops, out of the thick of it. Geralt rips his hand free and covers both of his ears, eyes squeezed shut. He leans, heavily, against the side of one of the shops and Jaskier watches helplessly, not knowing what to do. His singing hasn’t failed him yet.

He reaches out, hesitant, and strokes a hand down one of Geralt’s arms.

Geralt opens his eyes, doesn’t uncover his ears. Jaskier smiles tightly, and he slowly lowers his hands. “I – ” and Jaskier is expecting _many_ things, but _not_ – “Sorry.”

His mouth almost falls open, “What?” he blurts. Geralt looks embarrassed again, almost ashamed, and Jaskier will be having none of that, thank you very much. “None of this is your fault,” he says firmly.

Geralt doesn’t look convinced. His eyes flicker away, lips pressed together tight.

“Hey,” he says, soft but firm, grabbing one of his hands. Geralt looks at him. “I mean it,” he says, squeezing. “You are not at fault for any of this, and I will continue to help when I can, but… perhaps we should just try and stay out of cities.”

Geralt nods silently. Jaskier nods back.

“Okay, good,” he says. “We’ll wait until the crowds thin out and head back to the inn, okay?”

So, they do exactly that. Jaskier closes the door behind him once they’re in their room. Geralt walks over and sits on the bed, which creaks under his weight.

“You don’t have to help me,” he says.

Jaskier turns on his heels. “We are _so_ not doing this,” he remarks, and Geralt looks up, eyes twinkling with something like amusement.

“Doing _what?_ ” he drawls as Jaskier stomps over.

He sits on the bed, their knees almost touching. “I am not helping you out of any obligation,” he says, meaning it. “I’m helping you because I want to.” Geralt looks away, and Jaskier bumps their knees together. “Is that so hard for you to believe?” he asks, almost dreading the answer because he knows what he’s going to say.

Geralt shrugs sharply. “A little bit, yeah.”

“You are my – ” Jaskier’s throat catches on the word, because it’s not _enough_ – “ _friend_ , and I want to help you when you’re suffering.”

Geralt stares at him, like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing or – more accurately – _hearing_.

“Thank you,” he says finally, and Jaskier smiles, big and toothy. He scoots closer, their shoulders pressing together. Geralt slowly smiles back, just the tiniest hint of a thing but it’s enough to make Jaskier feel like he’s on top of the world. “Your singing _does_ help, usually,” he says. “Earlier was just…” he trails off, looking annoyed – not at Jaskier, but himself.

Jaskier nods. “Some days will be worse than others,” he says. “I get that. I will _always_ help, though, however I can,” he says, meaning every word of it.

Geralt looks away, and Jaskier knows he’s embarrassed, the big oaf. He thinks about teasing him, because it’s always so fun, but ultimately decides against it. Another time. He leans his head on his shoulder, and Geralt tenses for a second before relaxing.

“Friends help each other, it’s like – _the point_ of friendship,” he says. “Don’t be so weird about it.”

Except – Jaskier wishes, sometimes, they weren’t _just_ friends. But if that was the best he was ever going to get, he was okay with that. Geralt looks at him with surprisingly warm eyes, almost uncharacteristic. Jaskier shivers.

“Thank you,” he repeats.

Jaskier grins, biting the inside of his cheek. “You can make it up to me,” he says, light and teasing. Mostly because he knew that Geralt couldn’t take _too_ much sincerity at once.

Geralt rolls his eyes, entirely fond, looking away again. “ _Gods_ , I don’t like the sound of that,” he grumbles, but Jaskier can see that he’s smiling even as he tries to hide it.

“Hmm,” Jaskier hums thoughtfully, still grinning like a shark. “You can start by massaging my – ”

Geralt elbows him without even looking, gentle but firm, and Jaskier flops back on the bed, laughing wildly and clutching his stomach.


End file.
